


Closet Stripper

by CandyRotten



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Slight Piningjolras, also bahorel and feuilly say the word 'fuck' a lot, but its totes not my fault, its hers, she pretends I'm to blame, this is entirely Julia's fault
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-26 09:44:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2647352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CandyRotten/pseuds/CandyRotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The songs, some of them, to him, were almost irrelevant, if it wasn't for the playlist's name.<br/>The name.<br/>The damned playlist's name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue (?)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JZNovaes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JZNovaes/gifts).



> This fic has a playlist! Or rather. This playlist has a fic. 
> 
> http://8tracks.com/jedienjolras/stripping-for-enjolras

His hands were shaking. Fingertips cold. Even his sweat was frigid. And his eyes seemed like they were about to pop out from his skull. Enjolras only didn't drop the iPod he held because he had a death grip on it. The songs, some of them, to him, were almost irrelevant, if it wasn't for the playlist's name.  
The name.   
The damned playlist's _name_.

 -------

It was an usual wednesday morning, Enjolras had woken up with the sun to polish the edges of his new essay. Having had a fresh cup of coffee, he reread it, word for word, drinking both the dark liquid and the knowledge he himself had put there. Naturally, it looked flawless. If he asked anyone, they'd tell him it was an exceptional work. But not Enjolras. Enjolras was never satisfied with what he worked on. He always thought it was missing something, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. He finished his mug of coffee in one go and stood up, taking his bag and the papers and leaving the flat.

Only two people of their group of friends had the patience, the balls and the eye for pointing out what Enjolras thought was missing in his essays. One of these people was Combeferre. But right now, he would definitely not analyze the meticulous work of Enjolras's writing. He'd most likely throw the essay at the blonde's face (with impressively accurate aim for someone who just woke up) for interrupting his sleep. The other person was very much awake by now, so Enjolras was heading to him. Or rather, heading to the one gym with a boxing ring in it. Enjolras checked his watch. By this time, Feuilly must be delivering the most agile blows to Bahorel's face. He sighed. Their idea of foreplay was too intense for Enjolras's tastes.

 

 _( 'You gotta be fucking kidding me.'  Bahorel laughed, slamming a hand on the counter of the Musain. Musichetta made a startled noise when the glasses she was cleaning clinked together and gave the considerably larger man the stink eye. Bahorel scratched the back of his head, sending an apologetic 'My bad.' to Joly's and Bossuet's lady before turning to Enjolras once more. 'You think throwing punches at each other is too violent for foreplay? You and Grantaire do_ what then? You run in the park, barefoot on the grass with puppies and sunshine and fucking daisies? No the fuck you don't! You throw verbal punches at each other that's what you do!'  
'That's not foreplay, Bahorel, and you know that.' Enjolras scowled, leaning against the wooden surface.  
Bahorel smirked. 'Sure man. Whatever helps you sleep at night.') 

 

Pushing back that memory, Enjolras shook his head and entered the building, heading to the stairs to get to the last floor. He passed by people in different gymwear of different genders that did the same ammount of oggling whenever he invaded their body building temple. But he always ignored them all. Sure, being single allowed him to bathe in everyone's flirting advances but Enjolras only had eyes for one. Also pushing back that thought, he walked straight up to the ring and, ignoring all kinds of safety rules, leaned on the ropes that squared the two men in. He tilted his head and watched Bahorel and Feuilly go at it with calm, almost lazy eyes.   
When Feuilly noticed him he held a hand between himself and Bahorel and said 'Enjolras'. Bahorel looked sideways, dropping his guard and the redhead grinned, delivering a hard punch to the tan man's face, right between his eyes. If he had used more strength, Bahorel'd pass out, lying cold on the mat. But it was enough to stun him and make him drop.

"Ow ow ow! The fuck!" He shouted, covering his face with the gloves. "Fuck! I call foul play!"  
"You and I know that in the streets, there is no fair play." Feuilly provided with a grin, removing his gloves. He squatted close to Bahorel's torso and pushed his gloves apart to see the wound. He'd have an ugly swelling but he'd be fine. Feuilly smiled and flicked his nose, which earned him another yelp from the far more muscular male. He chuckled and stood up, going to the edges of the ring. "Hey Enjolras." He nodded. "Pass me that blue water bottle?"  
Enjolras waved at him and reached to the left to get said bottle. Passing it to the other guy, he waited patiently until he finished drinking, watching with mild disinterest the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. When he was finished, Feuilly leaned against the ropes. "What brings you here?"  
"I have this essay I want you to get a look into." Enjolras said, retrieving the papers from his bag. He held it out and watched Feuilly take them with the utmost care, his eyes scanning the letters. Enjolras hummed and waited for a while, seeing Bahorel stand up and slap Feuilly's ass, before passing by and getting out of the ring. He nodded at Enjolras, too breathless to speak and Enjolras nodded back. He watched as Bahorel headed to his bag and got a Gatorade. He snorted and turned to face Feuilly, still reading his essay. 

Minutes later, there was a tap on his shoulder. Enjolras turned and Bahorel was there.  
"Hey, E, look, Grantaire forgot his iPod on my bag. Can you hand it to him once you go to the Musain?" Bahorel asked, still breathing hard. Enjolras raised an eyebrow, opening his mouth to argue that the burly man would probably see him first but Bahorel gave him a look. He blinked. Was he giving him an excuse to go after Grantaire? Enjolras huffed and his lips fell shut, him taking the iPod from his hand. Bahorel grinned and clapped Enjolras's shoulder, before looking up. "Thanks. Oi, Feuilly."   
"Yes?" Feuilly answered, eyes dancing across the pages. Bahorel rolled his eyes.   
"I'll hit the showers." He waved and left with his bag. Feuilly didn't even say anything, just continued reading. He was on the end anyways. 

 Enjolras stared at the iPod in his hand. It was a simple, silver one. It did look old, since it's back was filled with scratches and some permanent smudges. Enjolras snorted. Ink, most likely. Bored, he pressed the 'play' button. It opened the folder 'Playlists'. Humming amusedly, Enjolras clicked on one labeled _'boring ass Metro rides'_.  
He analyzed the tracks, sometimes smiling, sometimes surprising himself and sometimes raising his left eyebrow, judging his taste in music. He clicked back and rolled down to see what other playlists he had.  
And that's when he saw it. Suddenly, all the other playlists didn't matter and his eyes zeroed on that one. He could only focus on what he saw and the world had silenced, the frantic and rapidly increasing heartbeat of his hammering on his ears.   
He swallowed, shutting his eyes tight. Maybe, just  _maybe,_ he had hallucinated that playlist. Yes. That was a reasonable explanation. He channeled his hopes and his attraction to the man into one single rectangle in the man's iPod and imagined what he saw. Yes, perfect. That was it.

\-----

"Enjolras? Enjolras?" Feuilly had gotten off the ring and was snapping his fingers close to Enjolras's ear. But the blonde didn't even seem to notice, in a trance, staring at Grantaire's iPod. He frowned. "The fuck?" 

\---- 

Enjolras could hear Feuilly's distant voice calling him but that wasn't important now. He opened his eyes again, hopeful, and looked at the screen.

  
                                                                         

 

It wasn't his imagination.

It was still there. 

_Shit._

 


	2. A big problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is unbeta-ed so dont hate me

It was like falling. But then again, it wasn't quite it. Falling is something worrisome at first but when you accept your fate, all you hope for is that when you hit the ground it does not hurt that much. It was more like when you slip and almost fall, but manages to hold yourself upright. The scare, the undeniable surprise coming suddenly when everything was fine and the fear of the worst. That was more or less like Enjolras felt.  


The rest of the morning went in a blur. He remembered giving Feuilly a half-assed excuse for why he froze and ignored his calling, thanking him for reviewing his papers without even caring for any advice and leaving the gym, the astonished redhead staying behind, eyes following the movement of the blonde's hair as he left in his hurry. Enjolras could not remember a single peculiarity of someone in the street even if he tried. His world had zoned out and all that was there was him and the iPod.  
He knew he was wearing the battery out without even listening to the thing - he wouldn't let the screen time out and go dark. He always moved his finger so it was always lit on the accusing playlist page.  


The name of that one haunted him. If someone told him Grantaire wanted to strip for him, Enjolras would snort and say Grantaire would strip for anyone who bought him a drink. If Grantaire himself told him he wanted to strip for him, he'd give him the cold shoulder. But somehow, several pixels in a shining screen felt more intimate than a spoken confession.  


Maybe Enjolras could relate. Some texts on his phone were far more intimate and personal than things he spoke in daily life. What people did in the secrecy of their own intimacy was private and if they wished to share it it was important. Snooping in was nearly heretical in these things.  


Enjolras shook his head. He was getting lost in his thoughts here. He forgot the main focus.  
Grantaire did want to strip for him.  
Grantaire had thought about stripping for him. And had thought about it so meticulously he had arranged background music. Hell.  


When he gathered enough courage to lower the iPod and look up, he was already in his living room. He blinked, turning to look at the door - shut. He had done all mechanically, a little part of his brain directing him the right way while most of it focused on the problem in hands (quite literally).  


But the question was -  


Was that really a problem?  


Grantaire's truthful wish to do a striptease to Enjolras was a problem, after all?  


Enjolras's shaky hand put the iPod carefully down on his coffee table, almost afraid that it'd break upon impact. But given the scratches and the battle scars on its back, he doubted it'd break upon a short fall to Enjolras's carpeted floor.  


Coffee. He needed coffee for this.  


Taking a deep breath, he turned and headed to the kitchen. Adamantly not looking back to check on the iPod, afraid it grew legs and ran away, he headed to the coffee machine and his finger still shook when he pressed the buttons to make another steaming cup.  
The beeping announcing it was done came far too slowly for Enjolras's liking. But when it did, it was like hearing the final breath of a dying man, the feeling of relief knowing his agony was over but the nothingness that came right after upon realizing there was nothing else to wait for.  


He made the strangest comparisons when worried.  


Prouvaire would be proud.  


The blonde took the cup, forcing some steadiness in his hands and sipped from it. He let the initial rush of the caffeine drown out the tremors he could feel shaking his entire body and clear his thoughts. It did a good job. But his mind still conspired. This unsettling worry about his newfound 'problem' that he wasn't even sure it was a problem!  
He walked to the doorframe dividing the kitchen from the living room. The iPod sat on the table, gleaming silver, taunting Enjolras.  


Taunting. An idea surged forth in his troubled mind. And the spark of hope that came with it was enough to bring Enjolras to action.  
What if the whole playlist was a joke? Was meant to be laughed at, maybe with lyrics that were stereotypical about himself? For all he knew about Grantaire was that he was a joker. This playlist must have La Marseillaise on loop.  


Decided, Enjolras walked forth, setting the mug on the coffee table and scooping the offending iPod up. He took the earphones and put them calmly in before clicking on the 'play' button so the playlist started.  


And a woman promptly asked him why didn't they did 'it' in the road.  


Well fuck. It wasn't a mocking playlist. Enjolras began breathing erractically and nervously but a slim rational fraction of his brain provided him with some skinny hope - maybe it's just the first one. The others might be mocking.  


Enjolras nodded to himself, listening to the rock song, waiting for the next one to come. He was scared but he couldn't help but think about it. Was it a problem that Grantaire was openly sexually attracted to him and wanted to strip for him?  


The immediate answer was no. Enjolras would never see anyone's feelings nor sexual preferences as troubling.  


Then why was he so conflicted?  
Well there was the obvious answer, a traitorous part of Enjolras's mind supplied. You haven't gotten over this aching lust generated by the fury this man ignites in you when he taunts and mocks and even smiles.  


Enjolras scowled at himself and moved to stand up, nearly getting on his feet and about to drop everything and stomp furiously to sulk in the safety of his bedroom when the music changed.  


Britney Spears.  


The blonde frowned. It was a really old song. And it did sound like taunting - taunting Enjolras to stand up and stop the mockery Grantaire always did.  
But in the end, he knew he was fooling himself. That song was so ridiculously about teasing that only a complete thickheaded person wouldn't realize.  


Pontmercy wouldn't, probably.  


Enjolras groaned, head resting on his hands as he pulled his knees up to his chest and curled up into a ball. Fuck. Two sex-themed songs. What were the odds the others weren't?  


He rubbed his temples, eyes staring at nothing as the singer continued her hit on his ears. Well. Grantaire wanted to strip for him - Enjolras repeated it in his mind and did the mistake of closing his eyes. The music changed. Another rock song.  


And just as he did immerse himself in the darkness of his eyelids, he saw Grantaire. Saw Grantaire standing at the foot of a bed (his bed) with a daring smirk on a stubbled face and wild dark curls. Enjolras found he couldn't quite open his eyes. The song still played insistently and it all matched and created some sort of atmosphere for the scene. 

Grantaire chuckled at nothing and turned around, facing the wall opposite to the bed. He began then removing the jeans jacket he wore, teasingly, letting it slide down his arms but still holding onto the denim so his inches of moss green cotton clad back were revealed ever so slowly.  
When he was done with it, he held it in his fingertips ever so carelessly and let it drop to the floor. He smiled over his shoulder to Enjolras and Enjolras swallowed hard. Damn this man being so attractive and infuriating. Damn it.  


Then, he turned around and began pulling his shirt off, slowly, but starting by the hem of it, so it revealed his stomach painfully slow but still showed his taunting face, staring at Enjolras with those impossibly blue eyes, bluer than his own and lips curled into the so known smirk.  


The soundtrack to the scene changed and Grantaire laughed upon hearing the first notes, before dropping his shirt, his stomach (that wasn't as defined as Bahorel's nor as pudgy's as Bossuet's) disappearing under the soft cotton. Enjolras felt himself frown irritatedly. But Grantaire suddenly pounced on the bed, much like a feline and grinned, startling Enjolras.  


As Britney (again) sang, Grantaire's lips moved to lip-sync. And it was absolutely ridiculous the way he did so crawling up to Enjolras but it was undeniably hot. He was all moving hips and grinning and reaching for Enjolras but Enjolras could never feel his touch and was so frustrated. Eventually, the brunette slid back to the floor and stood up, grabbing the back of his shirt just as he lip-synced "I'm a-"  


The shirt went off and Grantaire had closed his eyes with a blissed smile but still singing. "Slaaaaaaaaaaaaaaave for you." He stood shirtless, spinning the shirt once in his hand before tossing it to the side.  


Enjolras felt his mouth go dry. There were so many things wrong with that statement he was most definitely against slavery of all kinds but Grantaire. Grantaire saying those things. He felt warmth pool on his groin, swallowing hard. Oh God, why him.  


Then Grantaire laughed and slid his hands down his chest, teasingly, smoothing over the curve of his waist and stopping just where his underwear's waistband stopped. He grinned and his hands slid lower, framing his crotch before calloused fingers moved to open the button of his jeans.  


Enjolras was hooked, watching the movement intently. And when the zipper went down to reveal what he was packing underneath-  
The music abruptly stopped in the middle.  


Enjolras gasped, eyes flying open. He panted heavily, as if jolted awake from a nightmare and looked around. Everything sat as usual and his coffee was lukewarm by now, probably. He swallowed. Even if the coffee was probably lukewarm, he felt flushed all over with heat. He looked at the iPod only to find it flashing the 'no-battery' icon. Enjolras groaned with annoyance and took the earphones off, throwing it on the other corner of his couch. The movement made him realize his clothes clung to his skin with sweat.  


Enjolras tugged on the collar of his shirt to let some cool air in and looked down to blow on it.  


Looking down also made him realize there was a bulge on his jeans.  


He blinked, staring rather confusedly before opening his mouth and gaping like a fish.  


He got an erection.  


He _imagined_ Grantaire stripping for him and before he even slid his pants down, he was already hard.  


Enjolras's hand flew to his mouth to stifle a shocked shout. But even that, that he was certain he'd do, didn't happen. He just sat there, mouth open in a silent scream hidden by his hand and blue eyes staring at his jeans.  
He realized that yes - Grantaire wanting to strip for him was a problem.  
And a big one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as you may have realized this chapter is pretty much Enjolras-centric. Enjolras's feelings and conflicts and imagination roller coaster rides  
> also 'La Marseillaise' is the french national anthem jsyk


End file.
